The margin of mountain grass moved from our feet down
    the apron of
a few sheep at the edge of the world
jumping up and down
stamping on the highway
to keep warm we drew the senses
of every sheep in that field
          the goats
bells clattered
we stood there
waiting for a ride, children
hardly clothed followed us
out of town, asking germania?
Swiss french German Australian beat it ah
           fuck off
said we,
          the town closed down their
lights went off singly
in pairs
the children trotted back to town in pairs like dogs
hardly clothed
for that kind of night we shook
by the highway
lonely to be there,